


Blood

by checkerbee



Series: 31 Days of Apex (Drabbles) [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex (Apex Legends), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25030993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkerbee/pseuds/checkerbee
Summary: Day two of 31 Days of Apex...That is how they see him. Bits of humanity shimmering from under the framework of finely crafted technology. Lovely.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Series: 31 Days of Apex (Drabbles) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812307
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Blood

There's nothing quite like it, Bloodhound thinks as they watch the simulacrum straighten up from his position kneeling over a fresh kill. It's just the two of them this time around, the games hosting a championship of duos for a sponsored event, and they are riveted, entranced by the sight of Revenant's shoulders twitching before realigning themselves. 

He has an odd way of moving, unnatural and quick, limbs adjusting and flaring as the entirety of him recalibrates. Like the finely tuned mechanisms of a gun. 

Mechanical until he grumbles and flicks blood from his fingers and they see a glimpse of the human mind within him. He would be grimacing now, if he was able to, a frown tugging at his lips as he checked over his weapons. 

That is how they see him. Bits of humanity shimmering from under the framework of finely crafted technology. Lovely. 

"Are you done staring?" He asks, growls, and they push themselves off of the crate that they're sitting on. Their most recent fight had brought them to the riverside of bunker, the railings and heavy metal doors decorated in crimson splashes of blood and the dented pockmark of bullets. 

What would he look like as flesh and bone, with blood pumping through his veins and bringing color to his cheeks after a good fight? 

"Do you not find your performance noteworthy?" They ask back and he snorts, head tilting back as he flexes his fingers, the individual joints of his fingers extending and reaching before relaxing. 

He doesn't answer them though, moving onto the next location, the next fight, the next release of tension. He follows when they pick up tracks, gives them the cursed protection of his totem when they enter the Hunt and allow them the chance to wage war until their breath is harsh and deep in their chest even after the red has faded from their vision. 

They're a good pair, working well together and treating each battle like a dance more than a fight to the death. When they fall back, he takes up the space they leave behind and finish the work that they had started until there is no one left to slaughter and the two of them are exalted as Champions. 

The sirens sound, ring out as the zone that Natalie designed recedes enough to allow an extraction crew to pick them up and they watch as he discards his weapons and gear as if they're cumbersome. They do the same, leaving their backpack and sentinel leaning against the outer wall of the building nestled in the slowly flourishing remnants of the nesting grounds. 

The game runners are careful about what's taken in and out of the arena, preferring to maintain a stable loot pool for future games and not waste money replacing souvenirs. If they didn't have a healthy respect -or fear in some cases- of the Legends, the extraction crew might've gone so far as to pat them down upon their trek up the landing ramp, but as it is, they only give Hound a stern look as they use one of their knives to dig a pebble from within the tread of their boots. 

They test the feel once it's gone, watch as Revenant goes through his own post-game ritual. While they prefer to remove their helmet and get a breath of fresh air, to look over their gear and greet Artur where he rests in his cage, the Simulacrum has an entirely different routine. 

He bathes, for lack of better term, a cloth soaked in water and wrung out quickly before he sets about cleaning the filth from the games off of his frame. He always starts with his face, movements slow and deliberate in a way that tells them that he was once meticulous about his appearance. Slowly the grime is washed away, blood-pink water staining the cloth and dripping onto the counter that holds the basin that the crew left out for him. 

Once done, he joins them in their little enclosure, presses into their space until they lean back into him.

"You did well today." They say, a kiss pressed to the metal curve of his jaw. The bright shining lights of his eyes blink, catch upon their face and they lick their lips, the taste of copper on their tongue like blood.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Y'all knew I couldn't resist writing Revhound for long.


End file.
